


Private Eyes

by alianovna_grant



Series: This Feeling [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, AU prompt, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anon Prompt, Apartment Building AU, F/M, Five Times, Mostly hella fluff, Neighbors AU, POV Steve Rogers, Tenant/Landlord AU, Tumblr Prompt, because that was the prompt, because!!!, capwidow - Freeform, prompt, romanogers - Freeform, some nudity, sorta - Freeform, stevenat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 14:50:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7512412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alianovna_grant/pseuds/alianovna_grant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'I wash your windows but accidentally saw you naked and it’s really awkward but I think I’m in love’ au Tumblr prompt</p><p>or </p><p>Five times Steve sees Natasha in varying degrees of weirdness and the one time it got embarrassing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Private Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello! And so this is my attempt at an anonymous prompt on Tumblr that goes 'I wash your windows but accidentally saw you naked and it’s really awkward but I think I’m in love’ au 
> 
> I got this prompt a few weeks ago and I had a hard time fleshing out the story because the prompt was a little challenging to be honest. I wanted to stay as true as possible to Steve's character and I felt like it wouldn't feel right to make him out as some random peeping tom so what was intended as a one shot became a 5+1 thing (I know, I shocked myself at how all of this came about).
> 
> A huge thanks to my friend Meg for helping me out with this one and giving me suggestions and ideas and for not judging me lol You're the best enabler ever!
> 
> Title is definitely from Hall and Oates because why not? (I love Hall and Oates, but I gotta say The Bird and The Bee version is pretty bomb too). The title may or may not suggest at some things later on as well lol
> 
> This fic is part of my prompts collection here on AO3, and again, comments and suggestions are highly appreciated (Sorry for any mistakes I overlooked).
> 
> Enjoy and stay tuned!

**_The first time he sees her she was covered in soot._ **

He was making his way to the staircase, heading towards the second floor unit his uncle had lent to him for the time being when he sees her sitting on the landing through the balustrade.

The lone figure was slumped over, her head leaning on the wall. He could’ve sworn she was _unconscious_. He could still smell the distinct scent of Pledge hanging in the air from the afternoon’s cleaning endeavor that has left him exhausted and the mahogany gleaming (his uncle’s weekly to-do lists were nothing but _thorough_ ). They were the same handrails he used to slide on as a kid, to Uncle Hank and Aunt Agnes’ dismay. He was such a frail thing back then, skinny and asthmatic that any and all attempts at rambunctiousness was highly discouraged. The lemony scent was mixed with something smoky radiating from her direction. Like burnt wood with a slight chemical trace.

He climbs up the first flight warily, particularly careful of the creaky third step (which he should probably fix), concern over somehow disturbing the stranger taking precedent. The entryway’s lighting was a bit on the dim side (which he should definitely replace) which shadowed most of her body but he could still make out the black motorcycle jacket slung over her shoulders, the red messy curls of her hair and the ash streaked on her face. He nears her sleeping form cautiously, each step allowing him a better chance to take a better look.

The shirt she was wearing looked more gray than the white he assumed was its original color with ash and dirt caking the fabric, he even noticed the a ripped seam on the side, making out pale smooth skin underneath. He stares at her, wondering if she actually lived in one of the apartments. He was only a week into this “sitting” thing and the last time he knew all of the tenants was years ago, summers when he spent his youth trotting along his uncle while he managed things around the building. The prewar brownstone had been in his mother’s family since the fifties. His grandfather apparently had poured most of the money he’d gotten from the army into it, turning the building into a ladies dormitory first, eventually becoming one of the safest and most well maintained apartments in the neighborhood (which his uncle has been fastidiously continuing for the last twenty-five years).

He remembers the time he spent trailing his uncle while he fixed things around the apartments. He’d plaster himself along his uncle side as he talked and interacted with the tenants all day, immersing himself in grown-up talk and chatter, even learning a thing or two in basic wiring, plumbing, and the like. He could recall how weird and wonderful it was to step into a different apartment every time, as if he was stepping into a different world altogether. He would get snippets of Mr. Walker’s records that would always be on whenever his uncle checked on his radiator and he thought how the music seemed like it came from a different time. He could still make out the odd scents of Mrs. Lee’s cooking when they’d invite them over for dinner. Delicious exotic dishes that tickled his taste buds and imagination. And, he would never forget Ms. Lawson’s “kitschy” interiors, the sight of shag rugs and lava lamps forever seared into his memory, the smell of patchouli oil even more so. He used to have so much fun when he played with the children that lived there, particularly Peggy whom he spent the most time with. Afternoons spent sprawled on her living room floor drawing and coloring and taking turns on his Gameboy. She was his first real crush, and he remembers how sad he was at age twelve when her family moved back to England. He was particularly fond of all the times he would gorge himself on Aunt Agnes’ sweets and baked goods behind her back. It was worth the tongue-lashing he’d receive from his Ma for coming home with a belly ache. The place felt like another version of _home_ , comforting and familiar.

Steve snaps out of his reverie and takes a few moments to make out her features, well aware of the fact that this whole scene was bordering on creepy with him hovering over her like- _well, like a creep_. Like he was _intruding_ , like he was seeing something he wasn’t allowed to see. But for the life of him he could not look away.

For the most part he knew he couldn’t just leave her there. A niggling voice at the back of his head told him that she needed help. That she was most likely injured and probably needed immediate medical attention and that it was his duty as the landlord- _sorta,_ to help the residents in any way that he can. Plus, any decent human being would be compelled to help someone in that condition. He liked to believe that he _was_ fairly decent, but he knew that wasn’t _entirely_ the only reason he lingered.

The soot and grime that layered over her skin weren’t enough to hide the fact that she was unmistakably _gorgeous_. Fiery hair and high cheekbones and full bee stung lips no amount of dirt could hide. He was silently wishing that she’d open her eyes, just so he could see what color they were.

_Yep, definitely creeper territory._

She looked so peaceful with her eyes closed and her mouth slightly parted. She looked like someone who had fought a war with sleep and lost stupendously. She seemed like she deserved it though, the kind of slumber that was reserved for those whose exhaustion ran bone deep. She looked otherworldly, almost. As fitting as that word would allow at one in the morning. 

He was still debating with himself on what to do – to leave her there and mind his own business, or to nudge her awake and take her to the nearest emergency room. He doesn’t get to decide though, he could see her eyes slowly flutter open and he doesn’t realize he’s been holding his breath. He grips the handrail behind him in surprise when she finally stirs, the look on his face somewhere between bewilderment and concern.

She blinks at him a couple of times, like she wasn’t registering everything clearly, slowly taking in her surroundings as if in a haze. She scrunches her eyes, bringing a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose, like she was trying to gather her bearings. The shift in her demeanor was subtle, one moment she was disoriented and then the next moment she was grinning up at him, focused and friendly. He couldn’t help the worry sinking in his stomach as their eyes finally met.

“Hey,” she mumbles casually at him, like she didn’t look like someone who just survived a catastrophic fire. He could hear the hoarseness in her voice which was distinct and unsettling. It was throaty and rough, like she had a hard time getting the word out of her mouth. He was sure as shit that that was definitely a sign of smoke inhalation _(but hey, binge watching medical dramas definitely didn’t make anyone an expert)_. He had no idea if she had an inkling of the state she was currently in. At how much she looked like she was on the brink of death only a few moments ago.  He feels confused for worrying about how irreverent she was of her own condition. He was worried at how alright she’s making herself seem.

“Hi?” he replies in confusion. She shifts slightly, craning her neck even more and he berates himself for thinking how enchanting her smile was given the circumstances. “Miss, are you okay, are you hurt?” his voice was firm, taking on an edge of concern.

She chuckles brightly, waving him off. “I’m fine, looks worse than it seems.”

Steve wasn’t quite assured. “I don’t want to intrude or anything but if you want-”

“I’m fine,” she replies abruptly, but not losing the friendly smile on her face.

 _Okay, he was definitely out of his depth here_. He was still warring with himself whether or not he should insist but decides against it. She looked like someone who did not take to interferences lightly, even if it was as innocuous as an offer of help. He finally concedes. “Oh, okay, it’s just..”

She tilts her head slightly. “Hey, I haven’t seen you around here before,” addressing him curiously. “Welcome, neighbor?” she inquires with a smirk.

“Thanks, I guess?” he says uncertainly, a wary laugh coming out of his mouth. “I’m not really a resident. Just helping out my uncle run the place while he’s on vacation,” he spouts, confused at how forthcoming he was being to a relative stranger. When his uncle had called him a couple of weeks ago asking him if it would be alright if he could look after the building while he was away, he immediately said yes without actually thinking about it. The old man never took a day off, he knew he hadn’t had a vacation since ‘92 when they all took that trip to Florida for a cousin’s wedding. He was barely ten at the time and he knew it was high time his aunt and uncle took some time to enjoy themselves. _How hard could it possibly be?_ But he never took into account how hands on his uncle actually was. He took on most of the repairs and day to day management himself. He didn’t even hire a janitorial service for the up-keep which was just ridiculous given his age. He was beginning to think he’d bitten off more than he could chew.

She looks at him even more intently, as if finally realizing something. “So you’re Hank’s nephew?” she asks coolly.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“Agnes mentioned over tea last week that Hank finally agreed to take her on that vacation cruise she’d been wanting so badly, she even showed me the brochures,” she explains with a chuckle, a fond look growing on her face. “She mentioned a nephew coming over to look after things while they’re away.” If he weren’t certain before, he was definitely sure now that she lived here. Aunt Agnes liked to talk to the residents and have them over for tea. She was a really sweet woman.

“Sounds like Aunt Agnes,” he announces unconsciously.

“Ah, probably where my last month’s rent money went to,” she snorts jokingly. He registers the faint sound of a cough, a soft pant at first that quickly grew into violent hacking. It was deep and rumbling and he immediately lowers himself to face her, concern racing up his body.

“You sure you’re okay?”

She grips his arm as she settles her breathing. “I’m fine,” she assures him, “I could use a hand though, my side’s kinda numb,” throwing a smile at him through her weary gaze. It he weren’t so panicked he would’ve registered her smile as _almost_ flirty. _Almost._

He takes her proffered hand and he hauls her to her feet. He could see the wince she was trying to conceal as she steadies herself, like she refused to let on how hurt she actually was.

 _She_ was _very_ stubborn, but so was _he_. 

“Let me just help you climb the stairs. Please, I insist,” almost pleading.

She cocks a brow at him. “Is this some sort of macho thing? That whole knight in shining armor shtick? I gotta tell you I’m not…”

“No,” he cuts her off with an exasperated look. “It’s an ‘I can’t stand leaving injured people sprawled across the stairs thing’.”

She regards him sharply before heaving a sigh. “Fine,” she says in acceptance, a knowing smile splayed across her lips. 

And so they trudge up the stairs, her arm slung over his shoulders, the weight of her against his side oddly comforting. He was trying his best to take the brunt of her weight, he was fairly certain her left foot was sprained.

He bites his tongue back to keep himself from asking her what in the world happened that she would end up barely conscious on the staircase at this hour.  He’d never been a nosy person but the need to know was _eating_ at him, everything about her was just so _strange_ and _intriguing_.

“He’s probably called you over a hundred times now, right?” she asks out of nowhere, amusement coloring her tone. The question takes him out of his train of thought.

He glances at her with a smile and a huff. “You could say that.”

Uncle Hank didn’t take well to handing over the reins easily. He’d been checking up on him since he got here, reminding him of doing this and that despite the lengthy lists he’d left for him to do. He loved his uncle to death but he could be a stubborn old mule, most of the time. ”Do you talk a lot with my aunt and uncle?”

“You could say that,” returning Steve’s words. “So which floor do you live in?” she asks as they reached the last step.

“Just here on the second.”

“Well, I guess you could unload me now,” gingerly unhooking her arm from his shoulder. She falters slightly but quickly regains her footing,

“No, really I wouldn’t mind if I helped you.-”

She gives him a look and he backs away. “I’m okay,” she insists. He stands there, just staring at her as she makes her way to the next flight of stairs, her hand steadily gripping the handrail. She was moving a lot better, a lot more sure of her footing and he’s slightly relieved. _Only slightly_. He doesn’t leave from his spot as he keeps watch over her ascending figure, on guard just in case she topples over. She stills midway and glances back at him. “Oh, and tell Hank and Agnes I said Hi, and thanks for the help,” she bellows from above.

“Okay,” He shouts back with a smile, seeing only the soles of her boots from where he was standing. He shakes his head in disbelief.

_What a night._

He makes his way to his own door, fishing out his keys from his pocket, still mostly unsure if everything that happened was even real.

He did not think his run to the corner store would have led to him stumbling across a fiery woman who seemed to know more than her fair share of danger. She seemed like the very fire he presumed she just survived, or _started_ for all he knew. Dangerous, blazing and bright. As bright as her eyes which he didn’t get a long enough look at to know if they were blue or green. He hears her cough from the distance, gravelly and harsh and it reminded him of when he had a really bad case of bronchitis as a kid and how he wouldn’t wish that kind of pain on anyone.

His door clicks open and he doubts if he made the right call, if she would be alright in that condition but he has a feeling she would pull through. He still reminds himself to google smoke inhalation once he goes online, though. 

He could hear the faint sound of sirens wailing, a fire truck speeding in some part of the city and he thinks of flames and heat, and the red of her hair.

_He didn’t even get to ask for her name._

 


End file.
